by Rob Buckman
“Good morning Leftenant Gray, sleep well?” The steward placed a pot of coffee at his elbow after pouring the first cup.
“Yes, great, sorry I’m late.”
“Think nothing of it, sir. Everyone is late this morning, so we have kept breakfast going, probably into lunch by the look of it.”
“Thanks, this is just what I need.” Mike spooned sugar into his cup and added cream.
“What would you like for your breakfast this morning, sir?”
“Egg, bacon, sausage, a mountain of fries, and some toast, if I can?”
“No trouble at all, sir.”
“Thanks.”
“Good Morning, your Majesty.” The Steward bowed slightly and continued walking to the sideboard. Mike shot to his feet as the King came in.
“Good morning, your Majesty.” He greeted; grabbing his napkin before it fell to the floor.
“I’ve told you about that before Michael, you will hurt yourself,” he laughed, “sit down and relax my boy.” The King chucked and sat.
“Yes, sir, sorry, force of habit.” The King nodded in understanding and took the chair beside him, instead of the one reserved for him at the head of the table.
“How the work on your ship progressing?” Mike froze with a forkful of food half way to his mouth.
“Very well, sir, but we do have a few problems.” Mike gulped a mouthful of food in surprise. Wondering how on Earth the King knew about it.
“Anything you can’t handle?”
“No, sir, we are finding ways to work round them.”
“Good, glad to hear that.” He doubted Mike would tell him if he did have a problem, unlike some others who’d take advantage of the situation.
It was a bit of a shock to Mike. The King obviously knew about his ship, and his estimation of the importance of the project went up a notch. He almost broached the potential trouble with the Inspector, but thought better of it. He didn’t want the King to think he couldn’t handle the assignment.
“Seaford tells me you volunteered to spar with him. Did you tell him how good you are a sword?” Mike felt himself go cold. That was something he didn’t think anyone knew about, outside people on Avalon.
“No, sir, I’m not anywhere near as good as he is, I suspect.” He answered carefully. King knew a little more about his background than he thought, but did he know the truth?
“I did a little checking up on your home world, Michael, and it makes for interesting reading.”
“Sir?” Mike asked, keeping his face expressionless.
“Oh, I don’t mean Kellman.” The King smiled at him. “But I can understand why you felt it was necessary to hide the fact that you are from Avalon when you entered the Marines.” Internal, Mike cringed.
“I…” He closed his mouth on another lie, and nodded instead. From his expression, the King wasn’t upset about the lie.
“Your secret is safe, a sort of state secret you might say.
“Thank you, sir, I think.” The King smiled.
“I was somewhat intrigued that they still permit dueling on Avalon. Isn’t that a bit barbaric?”
“Yes, sir, and no, they do permit it under strict rules and supervision. It’s also one way of settling a lot of personal disputes that otherwise would go unresolved, and possibly lead to intolerable situations.” He smiled slightly. “It also gets rid of a lot of lawyers.”
“I see. Good point.” That brought a smile to the King’s face. “And that includes the duels you participated in?” Mike colored slightly, wondering just how much the King knew about the details. It also spoke of a good spy system on Avalon, which there shouldn’t be, or… The second thought was more disturbing than the first.
“Did you tell Seaford that you had three duels yourself?” The King asked, carefully buttering a piece of toast before adding Marmalade.
“No, sir, I thought it better to leave that unsaid.” It was clear the King knew a lot more about the goings on, on Avalon than he should. Mike felt a little uneasy, wondering what the King thought about his duels, and what else he might know. Again, Mike had that feeling there was more going on behind the scenes than he suspected.
“Yes, he might not have been so eager to cross swords with you if he had.” The King left it unsaid that Mike killed two men in the last duels.
Nor the fact that his last dual was the main reason he was here on Earth. Most duels ended in first blood, but on the last occasion Mike had killed two people. Not because he wanted to, but because he lost his temper, and paid the price. It wasn’t something he was proud of, just the opposite in fact. His last deployment with the Marines was another stinking mess, and again he’d only just managed to get his men and himself out of it alive by the skin of his teeth. That action never made the headlines, just a ‘police’ action of some half-forgotten world no one cared or thought about. Why they’d ever sent them there in the first place was unknown, only that they had. Three months of insect infested jungle, rain, humility jungle rot and the constant harassment by the locals let him in no mood to be fucked around with by anyone. He’d lost too many good men for no damn good reason and blamed himself, again. They should never have put him in command in the first place, but they had. His enlistment was up, and after signing a mountain of papers, he left in the middle of the night without saying anything to anyone. His mood was so dark he failed to pay attention to orders, and failed to report to the med center to have his implants deactivated, plus a few other things like receiving his combat medals and VC.
He took the first flight out on a broken down tramp freighter and sent a miserable three months getting back to Avalon. Even after betting home, he couldn’t shake himself out of his depression. He remembered the afternoon it happened as if it were yesterday, the bright blue skies with fluffy white clouds sailing majestically across as he walked home from the Dojo. Central Park should have lightened his mood, children running and playing, girls in their summer dresses, the smell of fresh cut grass, but all he could remember was the look on the faces of his men as they died. Why the Joslin brothers decided that day to pick on him, he never knew, just that they did. This wasn’t the first time they had a run in; the last time was over a girl Andrew Josin was sweet on. It didn’t come as any surprise when Andrew challenged him, and in keeping with the law, they’d used the services of a Proctor to mediate the dispute. The older brother had refused to accept ‘first blood’, and paid the price. He beaten Andrew easily and fairly, and thought the incident forgotten until that day. This time Andrew simply drew his sword, and challenged him on the spot. He told himself that he’d tried to back out of the fight, and that he’d called for a Proctor, but Andrew kept coming at him, egged on by his younger brother. In the end, he had to defend himself, but even so, he had no intention of killing him. That was until his brother struck him from behind, cutting him from shoulder to waist down his back. He should have been able to anticipate that, and kept a wary eye on the kid, but in his present mood, he’d left his back undefended. Pulsing black anger tore through him, his vision going red around the edges, murderous fury replacing reason as he fought both of them. The Joslin brothers never were the swordsmen they thought they were, and seconds later, they both lay dead with him standing over the bodies when the Proctor finally arrived.
“Avalon keeps its justice system to the minimum, sir, very few courts and judges, no prisons, and no crime.”
“What do you attribute that to?”
“Well, sir, for a start, we controlled the population.”
“I can see the advantages to that, but it’s not something we can really do here.”
“No, sir, I realize that, and so did my Great Grandfather Max Tregallion. On Avalon, you need a permit to have children, and they are automatically wards of the state at birth, and placed under the joint protection of all citizens.”
“And that means?”
“No orphans. In other words, we are all responsible for the children, no matter who their parents are.” He saw the King n
ods. “They are also guaranteed, health services, a complete education, counseling if need be, all basic services, such as housing, power, water, food, communications, and full citizenship after completing compulsory military service.”
“So, you don’t have cases of child abuse, or neglect.”
“No, sir, none. The last case was over fifty years ago.” He thought of his own case, but wasn’t sure if it applied to him. “No orphans, as we like to say.”
“You say no crime, do you mean that literally?”
“Yes, sir. The Government, your Government took the position that too many mistakes were made in the pasted and the wrong people convicted and sent to jail, or executed.”
“But the alternative.”
“Yes, sir, and your answer was to outlaw the death penalty.”
“I take it you don’t agree.”
“No, sir, we use electronic and chemical means to find out who the guilty party is first, and then the judge decides the punishment.”
“Doesn’t that violate his or her human and civil rights?”
“From your legal point of view, yes. From Avalon’s, not in the least, sir, or at least, that’s how we feel. If you are accused and innocent, then you know that one trip to the Proctor’s office and you will be vindicated.” He didn’t add that the trip wasn’t voluntary, but few, except the guilty, ever refused or complained.
They disarmed him and taken him to the senior Proctors office for questioning, and even as he walked into the office he knew he was guilty. He’d taken the drugs rather than had then injected and sat through three hours of intense questioning. His Grandfather was there, as well as the Joslin boy’s parents, and he could hear the argument going on in the background. They wanted his head, the boy’s mother screaming her hatred as he detailed the fight. In the end, the Proctor’s office ended up with a conundrum on their hands. On one hand, it was clear the boys had picked the fight and violated the law by starting it before a Proctor arrived. In such a case, he was justified in defending himself. The moment the bother entered the fight he had the right to use deadly force, and he had. What condemned him were the words out of his own mouth. He admitted that in the end, he’d he wanted to kill them, wanted to see them dead, at which point it became murder.
“Has there ever been a mistake, or someone tampering with the results?” The Kink asked, breaking into his thoughts.
“No, sir, not that I know of. The questioning is performed under very strict rules, supervision, and witnesses. Three independent observers have to verify and agreeing with the results.” He answered, simplifying an otherwise complex process. What he couldn’t say was where the truth drug came from, or how infallible it was. You could no more lie under the influence of TD-Penta than you could breathe vacuum, and that had been his undoing.
“And if it should be a clear case, of say, murder?”
“In that eventuality, the judge can either order immediate execution, in the case of deliberate pre-meditation, or some other punishment and restitution to the victim's family in the case of second or third degree.” He had some idea how long the argument about what his punishment should be. The parents of the Joslin boys wanted the death penalty, but the Proctors argued against it. Where his paternal Grandfather stood, he never knew as he’d left once the questioning was completed.
“And if he repeats the offense?”
“There are no repeat offends, sir. In the case of murder, he doesn’t get another chance, he, or she, is executed immediately, it is determined that he has committed the crime.” That pointed to his own case, and the reluctant determination that he’d acted in self defense.
On reflection after the duel, he knew that if he hadn’t let his temper get away from him, he might have ended it another way. Therein lay the dilemma for the judge. At what point does self-defense become murder? Was it just intent? He’d been vindicated, much to the anger and disappointment of the family concerned, yet the fault lay with the family, and the two brothers who’d refused to accept the first ruling in the death of their brother. They’d turned it into a vendetta, and paid the price.
“I must say, that’s quick and clean in some way, compared to the antiquated system we have here.”
“Yes, sir, that’s what the founding families wanted to avoid.” Mike felt a little uncomfortable discussing this with the King. He really wasn’t qualified.
“What about in the case of a criminal, or gangs?”
“Oh, we have had one or two of those, but they only lasted a few months before the local populous rounded them up and shipped them off planet.” He felt on safe ground now and relaxed slightly. The PM or his Great Grandfather were better qualified to answer questions like this, especial coming from the King himself.
“So, you all act as your own police.”
“Yes, sir, we believe that it’s impossible for any state to guarantee to protect all its citizens all the time, and nothing but a fraud.” He didn’t add, mostly perpetrated by a Government as a way to disarm and keep the people under control in one way or another.
“All citizens are required by law to carry weapons, and we feel that it is up to each of us to act as our own police.”
“That could lead to a lynch mob, surly.”
“We do have a guideline, and unless we are attacked, the criminal it apprehended using none lethal weapons and brought to the Proctor’s office for testing.” The King sipped his coffee for a moment, obviously deep in thought.
“If required, say in self defense, the law permits us to use lethal force.” That rule and the testimony of corroborating witnesses saved him from execution. The price he had to pay, probably more to satisfy the grieving, outraged parents, was the injection of a drug that would prevent him from ever using lethal force again.
“Sound like a workable system.” He said at last. “The only one flaw in the system is the reliability of the drugs used to find the truth.”
“To my knowledge, sir, in one hundred year, no one has ever been wrongly accused, or convicted of any crime. The whole process is transparent, and if necessary, all citizens can witness the procedure. No one would stand for an injustice, and with an armed populace, the Government wouldn’t last ten minutes.”
“Yes, that would put a damper on a lot of political ambitions.” He chuckled.
“No such animal on Avalon, sir.”
“Yes, I did hear about that. You officials aren’t elected. You do it by lottery?” Mike couldn’t help smiling hearing that.
“Yes, sir, they are, and some have to be dragged, kicking and screaming to a council meeting by the Proctor.”
“I always wondered what a truly representative form of Government would take. I have to say, it’s not one I would have thought of.”
“Every eligible citizen, meaning he has to be of legal age, and completed his military service is put into the lottery. If he or she is on planet, and their name is drawn, they are required by law to serve two years on the council of twenty.”
“Even if they don’t want to.”
“Yes, sir. It’s rather like your jury system.”
“Are yes, I see.” The King nodded in understanding. “A civic duty performed by all citizens.”
“It has its moments, sir, and the discussions get a little heated at times.” He didn’t mention the all out free-for-all some of the early council meeting degenerated into.
“Clearly, it’s a system that works.”
“It is, sir, for a new planet. I doubt you could institute it here.”
“No, that would take a revolution.” He chuckled, thinking of the political intrigue swirling around the Palace and Whitehall at the moment.
“We make sure that the services, such as housing, schools, local services and such are in place before we permit expansion of the population, that way we don’t have a poor class, or unemployment.”
